Unhappy Fishermen

This is about the place the Salmon reaches civilization

The middle of last week found me in Riggins Idaho on a business trip. Its a great little place in the Salmon River Canyon where the Salmon River flows out of the wilderness and heads down stream to its union with the Snake River on the Oregon/Idaho border. I’m usually in this part of Idaho several times a year and I never tire of its raw beauty. Its a place of past Indian Wars, prospecting, logging, and ranching, but because of the steepness of the country I don’t ever see it being spoiled to the point where commercial interests will destroy it.

Chief Joseph’s failed run for Canada. He won this battle but lost the war.

When I left on my trip, I was also very aware that the area would be holding a few more people then normal as the beginning of the spring run of salmon was right around the corner. This last winter had left us with a very good snow pack in the mountains but because of a cool spring much of the snow in the upper hieghts was still there and hadn’t started its way down in the form of water. Finally the last few days we had started to see temps in the 80’s and the forecast was to see them rise into the upper 90’s over the week-end. If you live near the mountains you understand real well what that does to the rivers.

That first morning when I came down from my room in the motel I noticed a half dozen men standing in the lobby, drinking coffee and looking out on a very dirty river. I had to smile as one of the happy go lucky motel employees came by and asked if they were there for the fishing. I saw six of the saddest looking men turn and look at her and I’ll have to hand it to them as they gave her the friendliest answer anyone could give under those circumstances. By the second morning there were a couple more but by the third morning I suspect they finally realized the futility of waiting any longer and they had all left.

There was one gentleman though that caught my attention as it was obvious that he enjoyed the fishing more, or as much as, catching fish. Every day we were there he would pull his boat up to the confluence of the Salmon and the Little Salmon rivers and there he would sit and fish all day long. Evidently he had made up his mind that nothing was going to ruin his time on the river, because if it was all about fish he would have went home with the rest of the boys.

The Salmon started looking more like choclate milk as each day passed.